With Wind at His Feet
by BetaRho
Summary: venturing forth into a new life in attempts to reconcile, a young mercenary relives memories of a long forgotten past that he seeks to escape.
1. The Contract

A cool breeze sweeps his silver hair aside as he stares into the enchanted mirror at his feet. He takes one last look back onto the bloodied battlefield that was once a dark wizards stronghold and as he surveys the wreckage of the now crumbled Eastern wall his thoughts shift to Sandra, knowing that this very well may be the last time he sees her. With a heavy sigh he steps towards the false reality of the mirror and following the steps of his companions who left not moments before him he shifts through its liquid boundaries, moving through time and space itself, unknowing as to what dark fate lies before him. As he tumbles through reality he closes his eyes, allowing memories of a past long forgotten to swell within his mind and become reality once again.

Darkness envelopes his vision, dulling the senses and blotting out reality as he slips into the subconscious. The world slowly vanishes around him as he falls deeper and deeper into his own memories. For a moment the world is nothing, all of his surroundings have been cancelled out and what has replaced them is void. The blackness fades to light, and sounds return to the world as his mind begins weaving an illusionary world around him where reality and imaginary become one.

A light wind blows over his face, the smell of fresh spring blossoms in the air. Light from the morning sun illuminates the meadow, warming his dreaming face. The grass ripples in the wind and gently brushes against the skin of his face, tickling him lightly and forcing a thin smile upon him. A voice mumbles just beyond hearing. It grows louder.

"Laire? Laire are you listening to me? I said lord marshal Bassiri awaits our presence. Nobody's paying you to just lay around in the sun you know."

With a mumble Laire sits upright, "The commander doesn't pay that well to begin with, especially for the type of work he asks of us. We honestly need to find better paying customers Arlan."

In a slight mocking tone Arlan replies, "Well the only ones in this corrupt hole of a city willing to pay your prices are the exact people we've been working against for years now."

With a sigh, "I suppose we've got to settle for what we've got then?"

With a smile and a slight chuckle Arlan grabs her close friend by the hand and helps him to his feet. "Don't worry so much, I think today may be our big break."

Together they begin their walk through the countryside, leaving the shade of the great willow behind them and working their way towards the outskirt buildings of the city surrounding the great citadel, Mithrendain. They pass a few small farms as they head towards the great forest, the rich fields looking rather simple in comparison to the ancient trees and large, intricate towers that make up the inner core of Mithrendain. With long strides they make quick travel of the countryside and the spring fields slowly transform into the dense forests that exist deep within the Feywild. The trees grow ever taller as they continue farther into the ancient heart of the forest and the intricate structures of the city begin to come into view. As the edges of the city grows nearer they aim their journey along the winding paths towards the market district. The ornate structures of the Eladrin built towers form a beautiful scene, woven into the trees themselves as if the large stone cathedrals were formed from natural causes.

The walk through the city is always long and boring for the first few minutes of travel but as they approach the heart of the city things get very lively as there is always a burst of activity within and around the market district. Crowds of shoppers and journey men swell around Laire and Arlan. The two stop for a brief moment and look to each other with sly grins as if to share the same thought. With breakneck speed they bound of into the chaos of the mid-day market, weaving and jumping in and around people with such a level of grace and precision that they appear to flow as smoothly as the air itself. A calamity of smells and sounds bombards the senses, filling the mind with beautiful images and colours that swirl to paint the most breathtaking of aural sensation within the subconscious. The aroma of fresh breads and this month's new harvest of fruit wafts through the air, only to be instantly replaced by the earthy scent of newly woven cloaks of the finest silks and cloths. The hammering of steel on anvil rings through air, blending with shouts and calls of haggling shoppers and shop owners. Amongst the anarchy of sensations one can't help but feel a sense of glee as if to create to a joyful chaos of colours within the mind's eye. Not moments after starting, they burst through the last crowd of people and race off towards the heart of the great citadel, leaving the market and its rich treasures behind them.

Approaching the citadel Laire and Arlan slow their speed to a halt and lean against the ornate stones and marbles twisted in vast sculptures that form the outer wall of the Watchers' barracks. Resting to catch their breath they look skyward through the thick canopy to find the sun now in its zenith. Arlan tilts her gaze to Laire with a sly grin.

"So? Any new treasures today?"

Laire grins and pulls a small pouch from his sleeve and bounces it lightly in his hand, "I'd say about 40 and 5 gold and maybe a silver ring we could probably sell later for a small profit."

Arlan replies with a chuckle, "I've always been envious of your quick fingers, all I managed was 7 silver and a now broken quill."

With a smug smile, Laire turns to Arlan, "Give it time my friend, and maybe one day you'll be as good as me." He winks. "Now let's hurry up and go see Bassiri before he decides to fire us."

They work their way around the towering defensive wall to the extravagant marble staircase that leads into the heart of the citadel. With multitudes of intricate winding columns forming archways overhead, they climb the stairwell, diverting to left into a passage leading to the western walls. Along the dark, narrow pathway the come to a small gap between two of the natural looking columns and slip into a hallway that one would not normally notice if they weren't looking for it. The dark corridor ends with a large wooden door, illuminated from both sides by two flame-less lanterns. They come to a halt at the door and Laire steps forward, taps five times upon the twisted wood, pauses and taps twice more. The sound of an opening lock echoes through the corridor and the door slowly swings open as if by its own will.

Many dark figures in cloaks shuffle about as they enter the hidden barracks, either heading off to their next shift or returning to rest and gather information before their next. They work their way through the many other Watchers, slowly weaving their way to the door at the very back of the room. The door to the commanding officer's study. As they approach the dark door, Laire once against raises his hand to tap upon its surface. Just as he lifts his arms, a deep voice sounds from within the room.

"Enter you two."

Awaiting them in the room is a man whose appearance seems to complete the atmosphere of the underground keep. A wiry, pale man with dark black hair and a slightly ominous presence stands with his back to them as they enter.

In unison the two kneel before him and recite the vow, "Strike sure, strike fast. We rid the streets of plague and corruption. As Watchers of the night we maintain the peace from within the shadows so that others may live in the light."

With a friendly smile unfitting his ghostly appearance, he turns to them. "You may stand."

His face grows serious as he crosses his arms and leans against the small table behind him. "As you may already be aware of, I have an important task for the two of you today."

He begins pacing through the room. "Information has been leaking out as of late and we've discovered the man who is the cause of it. One of our own men has gone rogue and appears to have turned against the Watchers. A man by the name of Orodreth Séregon. I sent spies to trail him and we found out that he's been fencing for an unknown group of mercenaries. Unfortunately though, the same spies never returned from the last trail and we suspect that they were discovered. We fear he may have others among us that are feeding him info but we are unsure. As I have high respect for the exemplary work you to have shown I know that I can trust both of you with such a mission. However I'd prefer if you maintain as much discretion as possible as we do not want to invoke suspicion within the ranks."

With a very serious tone, Arlan replies. "Do we have any information to go on as to his whereabouts?"

"He owns a small villa near the edges of the forest, bordering the farmlands; I advise that you begin your watch there. Now leave, you have much work to do. May your blades stay sharp." Waving them off he walks to a chair at the back of the room and sits, appearing contemplative.

"Your man is as good as dead commander," responds Laire with a wide smirk, kneeling before his superior officer once again.


	2. The Kill

The chirps of crickets split the cold night, the pale moon shining down over the enclosed courtyard. The surrounding elm trees rustle and sway slightly in the cool spring breeze. Complete silence falls over the large house and there appears to be no activity occurring within. A dark shadow sits atop a hill not far from the quiet residence, watching as a hawk watches his next kill. A single whistle pierces the air and the figure swoops down from his perch, making quick travel down to the treeline surrounding the courtyard wall. A second figure awaiting his approach appears from the shadows of the tree and they exchange a few words.

"There has been no movement within for nigh on an hour now. Any signs of a watch?"

Arlan replies in a quiet tone, "Nothing, the entire place appears empty. Something feels wrong about this one Laire."

"I've got a bad feeling about this one as well Arlan, let's remain cautious for now."

With a sigh Arlan responds, "I say we take this one slow, for all we know he may already have guards waiting for us inside."

"Agreed."

With a nod the two figures disappear into the tree, not a sound as they nimbly make their way to the topmost branches of the ancient oak. They gracefully glide from branch to branch, nearing closer to the top, and using their speed and momentum they leap to the rooftop, almost seeming to hang in the air as if to exist outside the normal effects of gravity. Silently the figures move across the great length of the rooftop with a speed second to that of raging lightning, making their way ever closer to the slumbering prey. The twang of a plucked string sounds in the distance and without so much as a thought the second figure turns to face its source, twisting her body to the side as the shot grazes past her, shaving two of her long, slender hairs in half. As if by reflex she reaches into her sleeve and lets loose a shuriken towards the arrows source, using the momentum of her turn to give it speed and force. the sharp metal star whistles through the air and makes impact, a dull thud and the sound of cracking skull emanating from the shadows where it hit. A cry of pain and the sound of a body hitting wall and sliding to ground follows shortly after.

Simultaneously Laire and Arlan reach for their weapons; their images vanishing from the rooftop the instant their hands grip the hilts. Arlan appears first in the courtyard, her cloak falling loose to her feet as she pulls a long spiked chain from her back. The leather-clad figure unleashes a furious storm, her weapon ripping apart hordes of guards as she spins and twists her body in graceful flips and maneuvers to give the chain a deadly speed. The chains spin creates a visible half-sphere that destroys anything within ten paces of its wielder, tearing through flesh and shredding the armor of her enemies. As her fury slows to a stop, Laire appears in mid-fall above the courtyard, twin katars held in his hands like the talons of a great falcon. He lands amidst the guards now surrounding Arlan, piercing two through their backs and using their bodies to soften his fall. The man moves like a shadow through the guards, his blades dealing a series of fatal blows. He flows like wind through the chaos as the guards fall around him, thin lines of blood arcing through the air in great circles, following the deadly path of the man's blades.

The slaughter continues like this for a few more moments before the last body falls, and the dark figures can be seen standing there, in a sea of bodies. They stand back to back, breathing heavily, their arms hanging loose at their sides. The threat now taken care of they continue towards the house, holding their weapons still at the ready. They push the main door open and enter the house to confront the final enemy, the target of their mission. At the far end of the great hall that very man awaits them, his back turned to them and his hands help calmly behind him. Without turning he claps his hands and the door swings shut and locks behind the two mercenaries, preventing any notions of an exit.

"I see I underestimated you two, the Lord Marshal was wise to send two of your caliber. However, do not think you have won this battle as I have only just begun to play my hand."

Laire steps forward with a defiant tone in his voice. "You talk too much Orodreth, your corruption is at an end now. You may as well give up now and die with what little honor you have left before you make a fool of yourself."

Orodreth turns the two mercenaries, staring them down ice blue eyes that feel as though they pierce the very soul.

"I dislike your tone lowlife; I advise that you stop your tongue before I remove your friend's."

With that, a dark cloaked figure whose features are shadowed by their low hood appears behind Arlan, dagger poised at her throat. A cursed dagger with a blade as twisted as the black aura that embodies it. Arlan's body stiffens to the touch of the blade against her neck and Laire glares the man down in anger.

"How befitting for such a scum that would kill his own men to pull a cowardly trick as this."

The man puts a hand to his hip as if to stand proud over the shadows before him. "You've yet to face the full extent of my power young man, I have hundreds of guards waiting outside for you so I hope you're not thinking of escaping alive. In fact that head of yours will make an excellent addition to my collection, along with that of your frie-"

Before he can finish his sentence the once stone-like figure appears in front of him and presses a dagger into his chest. The dagger stops short however as a chain shirt below the cloth catches the tip of the deadly thorn before it finds flesh. As he does so, Arlan elbows the figure behind her and pulls a dagger to cut him. As she swings though, the figure vanishes in a cloud of black, but not before slashing her across the arm with his evil thorn of a dagger. A cry of pain escapes her lips as she collapses to the floor, clutching her wound.

The man laughs even harder than before, "Did you not think I was prepared for you dear mercenary? Have you yet to see? Amon Bassiri knows nothing of what's going on, I have many men working for me within his ranks and it won't be long before we take control of the Watcher's and I end that fool's miserable leadership."

"You truly are a coward Orodreth, and you shall leave this room with a scar befitting one." Laire pulls his dagger from the man's chain, pushing the man towards the window behind him. As he does so he swings the dagger once more and draws a deep line into the man's face, creating a diagonal cut from right his right cheek and over his left eye.

The man clutches his bleeding face as he crashes through the stained glass and into the yard behind. Knowing that he has merely maimed his enemy, Laire leaves the man and runs to his collapsed friend. She lays there unconscious, her breath ragged and sweat forming on her brow. He places his fingers to her neck only to find a weak pulse. Carefully he uses his cloak to cushion her head and lifts her into his arms. bearing her weight he carries her to the door and kicks it open. With careful grace he sprints through the courtyard faster than he has ever ran before, trying desperately to bring his friend to a healer before it's too late, praying Avandra for the speed to make it in time to save her.

Leaving Mithrendain behind him, knowing he can never return, he runs northward to Everlund.


	3. The Connection

The intertwined branches scratch at his face and limbs as he sprints through the overgrown paths of the ancient forest. The girl's body now lays limp in his arms, her face extremely pale with small droplets of sweat forming on her brow. The dimly lit forest is damp from last night's rain, causing Laire's movement to be slowed slightly from the heaviness of the humid air. His breathing is heavy and ragged as he bounds over the root-entangled forest floor, a small opening in the trees appears before him ahead, the short distance feeling as though to be miles of travel. The opening expands in size as he nears ever closer, illuminating the path in front of him with the faint, grayish light indicating a cloudy sky above. With desperate speed he bursts through the treeline, the small city of Everlund lying before him, its intricate architecture and delicate designs imbue the essence of Eladrin construction and reflect the natural beauty of the surrounding wilderness.

Knowing his destination by instinct alone, he wanders through the sleeping city to a small temple on the northern edge of the Everlund. His mind growing weary with each passing moment, he traces his course between the silent buildings. Not a soul appears either on the streets or in the windows of any home giving the town a ghostly, deserted appearance in the darkness of predawn. The moon has set and a thin layer of light fog coats the ground, awaiting the heat of the rising sun. Not even the brightly coloured songbirds have awoken to sing their morning song and the eerie silence is so loud as to make a person fear even the softest of noises. The cold, damp air prickles his skin but he pays it no attention as all his focus is solely on getting Arlan to safety. Her body growing heavier in his arms as his fatigue begins to catch up on him he appears not to notice, continuing forward with the same pace and energy he maintained throughout the night. Catching a glimpse of the temple between some homes he continues running in its direction and before he knows it the building appears before him. He slows to a halt just outside the boundary, sheer joy overtaking he leans his back against the heavy wooden doors. The overwhelming joy and the fatigue of running the full night causes his body to collapse instantly, his adrenaline supplies finally depleted. He slides down the door into a sitting position, Arlan still in his arms and closes his eyes, falling into a deep sleep. Only one thought reaches his mind before he falls unconscious. He made it.

He awakens to find himself in a small darkly lit room lying on a roughly thrown together bed. The stone walls appear to be fairly ancient and their cracked surface is crumbled and even missing in a few places. Large tree roots and wiry vines break the surface of marbled floor, allowing a mossy carpet to grow to thick mats in spots. A calm wind blows through the ruins, a faint arcane presence intertwined within it as if to say the wind emanates from the walls themselves. There's no sound in this underground chamber and even his breathing sounds muffled and distant. As his sense return to him he realizes that the room is unfamiliar and he has no recollection as to how he came to awaken in this strange place. He stands, pausing to replace his moss coloured cloak and collect his blades and knife belts from a bag lying next to the bed. The air feels thin here, and causes Laire to feel slightly light-headed as he moves towards the door, but he does not allow his consciousness to waiver and forces himself forward with a shake of his head. The hallway he enters is similar in appearance to the room he awoke in, forking in either direction into a series of catacomb styled paths and rooms. Ignoring the paths before him and to the right, his intuition pulls him down the leftward path, where the flow of air appears to be coming from and where the presence of arcane magic feels as if to thicken and become stronger.

After roughly ten and five minutes of travel, passing many small, empty rooms overgrown with plants, the hallway opens into a large courtyard that lays completely vulnerable to the elements. The courtyard is built in a traditional fashion of the temples of Avandra with many layers of stone benches and four staircases placed according to the point of a compass that descend towards a large open circle in the center. A small stone altar of intricate design stands in the middle, guarded on either side by large marble statues carved in the likeness of Avandra herself. Behind the altar stand a large stone archway that's carved to resemble two ancient willows with winding branches that meet and knot together in the middle. The energy created by the altar pulls Laire towards it as he descends the southern staircase towards it with slow, steady paces. As he draws nearer to it he notices that an elvish script inlaid in gold surrounds the top of the altar and that the four elm carvings that make up the corner appear to have small emeralds inlaid into their branches to create an image of summer's bright green foliage. He lays his hands upon the stone altar and a strong gust of wind engulfs him from behind, the presence of a very ancient arcane power standing at its core.

A deep, omniscient voice pierces his mind with the calmness of a cool spring wind, "The Lady of Luck, smiles upon you silver-haired one."

With a calm mind, Laire turns towards the source of the voice. Before him stands a large wolf perched precariously upon the southern wall of the courtyard, with fur of pure white and eyes of bright green, the wolf stands very regal in appearance and holds a stature of great pride. A light aura surrounds the being and with each successive gust of wind his form waivers, as though he himself embodied the wind.

Laire kneels before the being, a stance that bears great respect towards one of such stature.

"Lairelandon East-Elm, I am humbled to be in the presence of one so majestic. Is there a name by which I can call you, he who holds the wind at his feet?"

The calm voice echoes in his mind. "You may call me Belsullion, and you need not kneel before me young Laire, you bear a name of great honour within this forest. I have been observing you for some time now as I have observed many who have come before you."

Slightly flustered Laire stands and faces the white wolf, keeping his head high and his back straight in an attempt to maintain his composure against such an overpowering presence.

"I know not of what you speak honorable Arch-fey, but before that matter I must question you on something that has been bothering me ever since I awoke. What of my friend? Where is Arlan?"

"You need not worry young Laire, the priestess that brought you here has taken the girl into her care. She shall be safe during your absence."

He raises an eyebrow in mild confusion, "My absence?"

"You seek escape do you not? You prayed for a chance at a new beginning, a chance to remold your destiny and so Lady Avandra has graced you with such. Atop the altar behind you lays a key, this key holds great importance in your heritage and so it shall be the used as the catalyst to begin your new life. If you truly wish to change then you must keep this key with you on your travels for it alone is your only way of returning to correct the past that has been woven. Although it can merely open the door for you, you must choose the correct path on your own."

Without response, he turns to the altar and there sits a small key of knotted wood. The single piece of wood appears to wind around itself forming a not at the base and then extends outwards into four individual branches that twist around each other and come to four sharp points at the end. The wood is that of an ancient elm and a small emerald of impossible beauty lays embedded within the knot of the key. As he lifts the key he notices the thin lines of an elvish script inlaid along the length of the four branches. The thin aura surrounding the key pulses and reacts to his touch, a light wind now endlessly flowing around it, a wind that flows smoothly over the skin, its arcane whispers creating a prickling sensation that makes his hairs stand on end. He takes the key in his hand and wordlessly inserts it in a small opening in the center of the altar's top.

A voice sounds from behind him, "The winds of change blow strong on this fateful day, and thus the doorway shall open to connect the worlds of the old and the new so that new paths may be carved and new beginnings can be formed from ashes of past life."

Before Laire can even turn in response to the words a tremendous gale rips forth from the archway almost knocking him from his feet. He raises his arms to shield his face, the wind continuing to tear through the air with enough force to rip the trees themselves from the ground. This continues for several moments, the wind creating a near deafening whistling in his ears. He turns his gaze slightly and finds the white wolf to have vanished from its perch but before he has a chance to wonder the meaning of this the world seems to twist around him. All senses are distorted as the universe itself feels as though to be contorting and mutating, his vision becomes blurry and he feels as though he may convulse at any moment if it doesn't stop.

"Your mother would be proud to see what you have become."

So many questions swirl through his mind but he is unable to organize his thoughts as he is thrust through reality. He comes to a crashing halt, lying face down in what seems to be a similar temple to the one he was just in but the air feels different. The air here feels thicker and heavier, filled with the murky smells of swamp and moss. He brings his hand before his face and finds the key in his grasp once again and still filled with a multitude of questions his consciousness waivers and he collapses there amidst the leaves and dirt of this alien world.


End file.
